American Outlaw - Jesse James [88]
“Yes, you can do that,” Janine shot back. “I mean, I did.”
“How many times?” I asked, frightened.
She shrugged. “Not more than a couple.”
“Look,” I said. “What else have you done?”
Janine cleared her throat. “Well, gosh, if you must know, there are a few levies and liens placed against me by the IRS. But that is for old stuff, way back in the early nineties. My sense is that if I just wait long enough, all will be forgiven.”
“The IRS doesn’t just forgive a lien, Janine.”
“Why are you being like this?” she cried. “I feel like I don’t even know you!”
“I’m not being like anything,” I said. “Look, I love you, and I just want to know . . .”
“You what?” she said, brightening. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, no,” Janine said, sliding closer to me, poking me with her finger. “I heard you. You said you loved me.”
“You must have misheard me,” I said, grinning.
“No, I didn’t,” she said, kissing me happily on my neck. “Oh, Jesse, you said you loved me!”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “It’s possible.”
“Sweetie!” she cried. “I love you, too! Oh my God, I love you so much. Let’s never fight over dumb stuff like this again, okay? Do you promise?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I promise.”
“Thank goodness,” Janine sighed, settling back in her seat. She fingered her package of expensive underwear. “Now,” she purred, “I think we should go home and, uh, sort through these.”
I sped that car home as fast as I could.
——
Day by day, she drew me in. I understood that Janine was a volatile woman, given to making impulsive decisions. But she was extraordinarily bright. She spoke straight from the heart, and it wasn’t nonsense that came out of her mouth. She was extremely articulate, and often very funny. Most of all, I loved how she watched me from across the room, totally absorbed in every movement. I felt seen by her.
“I love her,” I admitted to Tyson Beckford one day when he and I were hanging around the shop after hours, shooting a game of pool. “A lot.”
Tyson and I had kept in touch ever since I’d built him a bike several years before. Whenever he came back into town to film a movie or do a shoot, he called me up. For a black supermodel from New York and a white-trash biker punk from Long Beach, we sure got along good.
“Is that right?” he asked politely.
“Yeah. I almost can’t put my finger on it, but she’s definitely got me hooked.”
“Young lovers,” Tyson said, laughing. He slid his cue stick back and forth suggestively.
“Real funny. But hey, dude, you want to hear something kind of crazy?” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.”
“Whoa there, buddy,” he cautioned. “That was quick.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “Seriously, I have never felt this intense about anyone in my life.”
“Fine,” Tyson said, “I respect that. But all I’m saying is, do you really know this woman?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. All I’m saying is, she comes from kind of a funny business . . .”
“I don’t care about the porn stuff,” I explained. “I really don’t. That’s behind her. She’s done with that.”
“Okay,” Tyson said. “But didn’t you say she had some weird IRS issues, too?”
I shrugged. “Look, if you love someone, then you should be willing to help them out. I have money. I can support both of us.”
Tyson held his hands up. “Then, hey, great. That’s cool. Who am I to judge, right?”
“Precisely,” I mumbled. “Can we get back to shooting pool, now?”
To my annoyance, other friends voiced similar concerns when they heard I was planning to ask Janine to marry me. Chino asked me if I was sure I was sure. Other friends just nodded and changed the subject. It pissed me off. It was as if they thought they knew Janine better than I did. After a while, I just stopped talking about it.
Instead, I bought a ring.
“Are you serious?” Janine cried. “Are you freakin’ serious?”
“I’m one hundred percent serious,” I said, laughing. “I want you to be my wife.”
“OHMYGOD!!” she yelled. “YES! Yes, I say yes! I love you!”
She jumped into my arms.
“We’re